


forget that far away I sleep

by writergirl8



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medieval, F/M, Prince Percy Jackson, Princess Annabeth Chase
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-09
Updated: 2014-10-09
Packaged: 2018-02-20 11:09:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2426576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writergirl8/pseuds/writergirl8
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Percy," she murmurs, threading her fingers through his untidy black hair, which is longer than usual. He may be the heir to his own kingdom, but there's nothing about him that seems regal yet. Percy Jackson is still a boy. Her boy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	forget that far away I sleep

She’s in the library when the young boy finds her.

 

He’s clutching onto a note like it’s a lifeline, and Annabeth barely notices him before he’s already bowing so low that his nose practically scrapes the hard stone floor of the dimly lit room. Annabeth can see his feet tapping, antsy in his desire to get back outside, and she decides that he must be the son of a servant, or the apprentice of one of the men who works in the stables. He doesn’t seem to be accustomed to being inside the palace walls.

 

“Do you have a note for me?” she asks, because she’s honestly never had much patience with the bowing, even though she’s used to it. It’s a frivolity that takes up important time with which Annabeth could be doing things valuable to her kingdom.

 

“I do,” says the boy, his voice small and squeaky, and Annabeth reaches a hand out almost as soon as he’s said it, trying to ignore the thrumming of her body as her pulse begins to pick up at the sight of the note. He places the parchment into her outstretched hand and bows once more before dashing out of the library, running as quickly as his short legs can take him. Annabeth can still hear his soft shoes as they flit down the long hallway.

 

Even though it’s daytime, the library has very little light due to a lack of windows, so Annabeth has to lean close to a candle in order to read the note. Her heart leaps as soon as she sees the familiar handwriting, messy despite the fact that she’s spent hours trying to correct it with him. He’s never going to learn if he spends all of their lessons staring at her.

 

Annabeth supposes that she doesn’t discourage it, though.

 

Rising to her feet, she carefully adjusts the golden circlet that surrounds her blond curls before shutting her book and scooping it into her arms. It’s too heavy to carry outside to the gardens, but Annabeth doesn’t know when she’ll be coming back inside. She gives it to a maidservant on her way out of the library, asking her to return it to Annabeth’s chambers as quickly as possible.

 

It’s been three entire _weeks_ without him-- he’d been travelling with his father, overseeing some of his kingdom’s peasant farmers’ productivity. Annabeth wishes that she would be allowed to come on those types of trips with her own father, but she’s never been invited. They don’t want girls on trips like these. There’s mud. And mud would, of course, have a detrimental effect on the sleeves that drape all the way to the ground, which just happen to be the height of fashion right now.

 

Sometimes Annabeth wonders why she can’t just _change_ the fashion. She’s the princess, after all. If she doesn’t like the sleeves, why do they have to be fashionable? Today, all they’re doing is slowing her down as she rushes out to the garden. Though the lilac fabric is sheer, there’s so much of it dragging against the floor that Annabeth cannot move as quickly as she likes. She wonders if this was her mother’s design in the first place—slowing her daughter down. When Annabeth had been little, she would always run everywhere. When she’d had her lessons with the boys, she had always been allowed to practice sword fighting with them. Jason would never admit it, but Annabeth is reasonably certain that she’s a more accomplished swordfighter than he is. He has more practical experience by now, but she’s got more technical knowledge.

  
Also, she often sneaks into the armory to practice when her parents are out of the kingdom and don’t bring her with them. The servants never tell. They think that it’s amusing to see her dressed in her cousin’s old clothes, and Jason never asks her what she’s doing with his breeches, blouses, and boots. He probably knows, but Annabeth chooses to believe that her time spent in the armory is a secret just for her. Then again, sometimes she thinks that she has too many secrets. Sometimes she wishes that they would all disappear.

 

It’s easy to wind her way around the walls of the palace, but it’s infinitely harder in such long, constricting clothes. Annabeth takes more time than usual to reach their bench, but it’s disappointingly empty. He’s probably still brushing Blackjack. When she takes a seat on the bench, she busies herself with arranging her sleeves around herself in the way that looks the least ridiculous. Granted, he’s seen her in the most idiotic of costumes throughout their childhood. But still. It’s different now. _They’re_ different now, even though they’re really the same.

 

“Annabeth.”

 

His voice washes over her like a tidal wave, immediately sweeping her back to childhood lessons in the library and running around the castle together as they discovered their love for exploration and clumsily learning to dance with each other when they had become old enough to go to court. His voice sounds like home, something warmer than anything within the many walls of the palace. Annabeth leaps up and spins around as soon as she hears him say her name, but he’s already walking around the bench and moving closer to her. She checks their surroundings because he isn’t going to remember to do it; indeed, by the time she confirms that they are alone, his hands are already encircled around her waist, his lips seeking hers.

  
“Percy,” she murmurs, threading her fingers through untidy black hair, which is longer than usual. He may be the heir to his own kingdom, but there’s nothing about him that seems regal yet. Percy Jackson is still a boy. Her boy.

 

Her eyes flutter closed as his lips finally come to rest on hers; for several moments, their mouths move urgently against each other, until finally Percy sighs against Annabeth’s lips, slowing the kiss down in order to savor their time together.

  
“I missed you,” he breathes out against her. “Why did you let me go with my father? Aren’t you sensible enough to realize that it would be unbearable?”

 

Annabeth smiles, pulling back from him. She tries to ignore her throbbing heart as she thinks of how unbearable it’s going to be after the next few months. They won’t see each other often. When they do, they’ll both have somebody else on their arms. Annabeth won’t even live at this palace anymore.

 

“You had to go to learn more about your people,” she scolds lightheartedly, brushing a thumb across his bottom lip. Percy leans into her touch. “Jason didn’t tell me you were back, Prince Percy.”

 

He lifts one side of his mouth.

 

“I rode directly from home to here.”

  
“Do we have a room prepared for you?”

 

Percy just shrugs casually.

  
“I can ride back tonight,” he says. “I just… I needed to see…”

 

“I know,” Annabeth says, cutting him off as the happiness in his eyes dims slightly. They’re both seventeen years old-- Annabeth should have been married long ago, had her father not been so attached to her. She knows that both of their hands will be sold in the form of treaty, and quite soon. And since their kingdoms are already in a strong alliance-- even more, due to Jason and Percy’s friendship-- Annabeth and Percy marrying each other hasn’t even occurred to the Chase family or the Jackson family. It’s simply not _necessary_.

 

The dreariness of Annabeth’s thoughts is reflected onto Percy’s face. He looks so downtrodden that Annabeth takes it upon herself to lead him to the stone bench and settle him onto it. Wordlessly, Percy wraps his arms around Annabeth’s middle, resting his head on her breast. She strokes his hair and tries to ignore his troubled expression; he is going to be king, yet he can do nothing about Annabeth’s betrothal to another prince.

 

In hindsight, falling in love with her best friend is the worst thing that Annabeth could have done. Still, she doesn’t think she’ll ever regret it. When her husband enters her on their wedding night, she knows that she will be eternally grateful that he is not the first one to be inside of her. That honor, no matter what happens in the future, will always belong to Percy.

 

“You look beautiful,” Percy tells her as he unfurls himself from her embrace. She could hold him for hours, but the chance of somebody seeing them entwined increases every moment that they remain so. Most servants are accustomed to them sitting together and innocently conversing. There are a few, of course, who have happened upon them in more precarious positions than a simple embrace, but Percy and Annabeth have most of the servants on their side. “I think you’re more beautiful than the last time I saw you.”

  
She scrutinizes him suspiciously.

 

“You’re trying to get me to notice something about you, aren’t you?”

 

Percy’s green eyes widen rather comically.

 

“What? No! I? I would _nev-_ ”

 

“Did you get taller, Prince Percy?” Annabeth asks, eyebrow quirked teasingly.

 

“Princess Annabeth, I am honored that you noticed.”

 

She laughs lightly, taking his hand and hiding it in the voluminous folds of her many skirts.

 

“Well, you grew and I had tighter gowns made. It seems that we’ve finally grown up.”

 

“I noticed that,” Percy says.

 

“That we’re grown up?”

  
“No, that this gown is tighter than the ones you usually wear.”

 

She tries so hard to squash any hope of a future with him, but then he says something silly like this and she finds herself wavering at the thought of spending a life without her best friend. When they had first fallen in love, a future without each other had been far off into the distance. But now Annabeth knows who she shall marry, and Percy’s father has already publicly announced his betrothal to Princess Reyna, despite their lack of love for each other.

 

Percy lifts their laced fingers from Annabeth’s skirts, staring at their hands. When his eyes catch the simple ring that Annabeth wears on her index finger, she sees him scrape his teeth over his bottom lip worriedly.

 

Annabeth can remember Percy nervously pushing the ring onto her index finger on the evening that she had turned sixteen, more than a year ago. He wears their symbol tucked under the collar of his finely made tunic, a simple gold ring threaded onto the end of a leather chain. She fishes it out of his tunic and presses a kiss against the band, savoring the feeling of the gold against her lips.

 

There are nights when they lie on her large, elaborate bed in the early hours of the morning, still awake even though the sun has risen once more. Annabeth’s servants have long gone to sleep, and Jason and Percy have finished their long conversations in which Jason attempts to very seriously talk about politics while Percy attempts to introduce humor to the subject of kingdom ruling, every so often handing Jason some wisdom that makes him realize just how capable Percy is of ruling his own lands. Annabeth knows of these times because, even now, she can picture Percy’s bare skin hovering over her as he regales stories to her, hair still slightly wet with sweat, her own chest still heaving slightly as she runs a hand up and down his back.

  
On those nights, Percy removes the ring from the leather band around his neck and lets Annabeth push the ring onto his fourth finger. Annabeth twists her ring off of her index finger and allows Percy to slip it on her, giving her hand a lingering kiss before he lets go of it.

 

They savor each other because they have to.

 

“I know what you’re thinking about,” Percy teases, jabbing Annabeth playfully in the side. There’s a sadness in his eyes that she can’t ignore, but it always seems to be there these days. No longer are they playful twelve year olds, chasing each other around the castle, secure in the alliance between their families.

 

“You think about it more than I do,” she reminds him, and she sees his hand twitch as he lifts it into the air to caress her hair, then retracts it as he notices a servant pass. Percy pretends that he has been waving pleasantly, and the young lady curtsies to him, her cheeks flushing red at the attention.

 

“I’m afraid you have me there,” Percy says when the maid is gone. They’re silent for several moments, wallowing in the reunion that has been marred by time. When Percy speaks once more, his voice is tired. “Let’s just… _pretend,_ Annabeth.”

 

She knows this game. They’ve played it before.

 

“The children,” she says, voice strong and clear. “Will we start the girls on lessons at the same time as the boys, or wait until each of them are a certain age before beginning their tutelage?”

 

“Perhaps our eldest boy should start lessons earlier and learn graciousness and patience by teaching his younger siblings.”

 

“But do we want to steal so much of his childhood from him?”

 

“I believe that we can educate him while allowing him to remain in his youth,” says Percy optimistically.

 

“Yet he’s the one who will have to make the most sacrifices. Perhaps he should learn early,” Annabeth sighs. “And if we are to have a female first?”

 

“She will begin to learn when she is ready,” Percy decides. “After all, if she’s as brilliant as you, we’re not going to want to stop her from reaching her full potential.”  
  


The words sink into the air as it occurs to both of them that Percy’s daughter will be nothing like Annabeth. Percy’s daughter will not belong to Annabeth at all. Sometimes Annabeth wonders, rather desperately and most certainly illogically, if she could raise his child. If they could time it _just_ right… but, no. It’s a ridiculous thought. No baby that she carries will belong to the boy that she loves.

 

When Jason finally finds them, they are forced to arrange their expressions into something pleasant. Jason, on the other hand, does not seem to be in the same frame of mind. Annabeth notes his moody countenance almost immediately. When Percy rises to bow to his friend, Jason just nods curtly, still caught up in his own stormy thoughts.

 

“Prince Percy,” he says absently. “I hope that you will stay at our palace for the evening. It is darkening already, and it looks like it may storm.”

 

“Thank you,” Percy says warmly, but Annabeth can tell that he’s confused by the abruptness of Jason’s words.

 

“Please,” Jason says. “Be seated.”

 

He doesn’t usually order either of them around. It is now Annabeth’s turn to give Percy a befuddled look as he plops down onto the bench next to her. The two of them watch as Jason paces back and forth in front of their bench, finally deciding to kneel in front of the two of them.

 

“I wish to marry Princess Piper,” he says, looking earnestly up into Percy’s eyes. Percy’s eyes widen in shock. “And you wish to marry Annabeth.”

 

“Jason!” Annabeth says, cutting him off. “It does not do to speak of such things.” She lowers her voice. “Especially in such a public place.”

 

“I feel that I must,” he says, clasping her hand in his. “Annabeth, we have grown up together. I have watched each and every interaction that you have had with Prince Percy and I have known from the start that, in order to rule as greatly as you can, you must rule _together_. Together, or not at all. And, Percy-” Here, Jason takes a deep breath. “We are both to be kings in the near future. I know we can set this right. I think we can do something about it.”

 

For a moment, Annabeth just watches Percy. He is gaping at Jason, taken aback by the emotion with which he has delivered his speech. He usually lacks passion in his words, but today, he makes no effort to hide his feelings. But there are implications in this. If they try to break their engagements, things could go wrong that far surpass angry parents. And all of them have been brought up knowing that they have duties to their kingdoms, and they will have to do things that they do not always wish to do in order to keep their people safe and happy. Annabeth had always known that she would have to give up pieces of her life. But Percy is an extension of _herself_ , of who she is. If she does not have to lose him, she never wishes to be parted from him in this lifetime.

 

Though she can’t make the choice for him, she believes that she can aid him in making his own decisions. Going against the express wishes of his father will be difficult, but she will be with him every moment, if he agrees to adhere to whatever scheme Jason has concocted. Annabeth presses her foot gently against Percy’s, the tender gesture hidden by the fabric of her dress. When Percy’s face breaks out into a smile more brilliant than any jewel Annabeth has ever worn, she feels hope spark in her stomach.

 

“Let us hear this plan of yours,” he says, offering a hand to Jason. “And pray to the gods that it works.”

 

When Percy sneaks into her bed that night, they refuse to fall asleep. Instead, Annabeth keeps the lanterns burning dimly as they lie next to each other and play pretend. This time, though, there’s a magic to their words as they intertwine. Their hushed voices and rapidly moving tongues paint a golden picture of a future that they might be able to have together.

 

For the first time, when Annabeth pushes Percy’s ring onto his finger, it feels like _practice._

 

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: This fic was written for percyyoulittleshit on tumblr, because today is her birthday! Happy birthday, Mari. You are the best of the best, friend. 
> 
> I'm genuinely considering turning this into a longer fic, or perhaps a prompted drabble series on tumblr, so please let me know if you're interested in more. I just wanted to make this a drabble, but I've kind of fallen in love with the universe. 
> 
> You can find me as rongasm on tumblr if you'd like to yell at me for how inaccurate the dialogue is. The title is from Magnolia Wine by Charlene Kaye


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